Charlotte

12/03/2020

How does one start a journal? I'm not going to say ‘dear diary’, I can tell you that. Maybe a simple hello? This is my first time writing things down so bear with me. I was told putting pen to paper may help the healing process by my counsellor, but I'm not so sure. It's been almost a year since Charlotte died and nothing seems to help, so here we are. I suppose I should say exactly what happened as a form of catharsis for myself. She was hit by a drunk driver walking home from work, only a few streets away. I swear I heard the collison; the screech of tires and sirens. When she didn’t walk through the door at her normal hour, a knot formed in my throat. A police officer turned up at my door-step, not long after. I don’t remember much after that. I think I cried into his chest. Even now writing this down I feel empty. I miss her more than anything, she was my first girlfriend straight out of highschool. We’ve been together- or rather we were together sorry, for 14 years. Those were the happiest 14 years of my life, we were perfect for each other in every way.

No one could compare to her beauty, her intelligence, or her way of looking at everything and seeing only the best parts, which I suppose is why she was always smiling (and she did really have a great smile). But I digress, I was told I should write more about myself and how I'm going, to help me ‘move on’.

So much has changed in a year. Whether it’s for the better I couldn't tell you, but at least not for the worst. I went on a date yesterday. Her name was Genevieve and she smelled faintly of turkish delight. She had bright orange hair, and I liked the way she had painted her nails to match it. She had huge pale eyes that seemed to hang like orbs in the restaurant lighting. We talked about pop music and horror movies, and all sorts of ordinary things that ordinary people like, but my mind was otherwise occupied. As is my heart still, I think.

I just can't stop thinking about her, Charlotte, I mean. I know I shouldn't keep mentioning her as this is my way of ‘moving on’ but you know how it is, everyone knows it and they pretend It's easy but It's not. These feelings will pass, I've been told, but every day they seem to be as stagnant as ever, unmoving in the passing river of time. My nana crocheted me a pillow which reads This too shall pass, and it took every fibre of my being not to pelt the wretched thing at her head. I’ve tucked it away in the basement, alongside the boxes of Charlotte’s things that I couldn’t bring myself to discard.

I joined a soccer club last month, in the spirit of getting my life back together. We practice once a week and have a game every second, and honestly I’ve enjoyed it. Being around people when there's a common goal of playing a game helps drive my focus away from lingering pain into something more constructive, at least for a little while. I think I'll stick with it until the end of the season; it's the first time I've smiled in a while.

We weren't married, Charlotte and I. We always said that we didn’t believe in it, and laughed at our friends spending thousands on grandiose ceremonies just to get a certificate validating that they tolerated one another. We knew our love ran deeper than that, and a piece of paper couldn’t possibly cover it. Plus, the expenses of a wedding were more than either of us could afford. That is, I thought neither of us could afford, but at the will reading I was shocked to find out she had a fair amount of money tucked away in an old bank account. I guess there were still secrets among us, even with our lives so intimately woven. I hope to discover more about her even now. Neither of us liked our parents much, so it wasn't a surprise that that little nest egg went to me. Twenty-thousand dollars. I made the lawyer read it back to me three times. That's more than I make in a year. I don't know what to do with it, it honestly just feels like blood money. I know she would have wanted me to use it for myself, but I just can't seem to bring myself to touch it. Maybe I'll invest it (if I ever actually figure out how investing works). I do think I'll keep writing in this little black notebook though, I've found this quite calming and cathartic so far, so maybe it will help. I miss you Charlotte, but now I think it's time to start moving on.